


Crush

by bluewhitewings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewhitewings/pseuds/bluewhitewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I write for Second Sunday Smut.  This was for the challenge 'dessert'.  From Castiel's point of view, I enjoy writing from his pov, it's very different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush

He had been watching over him when the prayer came.  Present, but unseen.  To be completely honest, he was simply one second out of sync with the boys, watching them from the very near future with his focus on the past.  When Dean said his name, like he had in so many fever-flushed dreams in the past few months, Castiel let himself slip back into the proper timeline. 

He wrapped reality around himself easily, standing a half-step behind the Righteous Man, and a few steps from his demon tainted brother.  Sam looked up, his hazel eyes going wide for a moment of surprise.  Dean turned, and Castiel felt the reaction almost as an afterthought.  The feeling of his stomach dropping and fluttering.  It felt like hunger, or illness.  A quick consultation of “Jimmy Novak’s Great Big Encyclopedia of Emotional Responses” informed him that what he was feeling was a ‘crush’.  

“Hello, Dean,” he grated.  Vocal cords were useless little reeds to him, and he hated the voice that came from them.  It was like trying to play a grand, orchestral symphony quietly through a lone, sad, little kazoo.  Through the vessel, Dean would see none of his nuance, none of the shifting colors of his angelic countenance, and certainly not the expressive span of his wings.  They were emotionally expressive, fins that aided in the manipulation of reality and rudders that stabilized him on the earthly plane, and hadn’t been really anything like bird wings at all, not since the garrison had stopped regularly visiting the humans.  But the classic artists had done well with the painted images, and a certain old-fashioned part of him enjoyed the representation of angels with the wings of birds.  One day, he thought idly, he would manifest them completely for the hunter.  

Dean was talking.  It was mostly incomprehensible as it usually was when Dean spoke, a mix of references to what he understood to be popular culture and slang, in the rough cadence and tone that was quite appealing to his vessel’s ears.  He felt a flush of blood rush to his face – odd, that it would want to go there – and quickly stopped it, returning the blood to other regions with a thought.  

“Cas.  Where’ve you been?”  Dean’s eyes were on him, deep green and Castiel felt himself square up under the man’s gaze.  His shoulders lifted as his wings spread, arching wide into the room.  Castiel was aware that he was endeavoring to put on what Dean would probably have referred to as a mating display, but he didn’t care.  His brothers and sisters weren’t around, and neither of the boys could see them.  He enjoyed the stretch of his wings with a private feeling of magnificence.

“I cannot spend all of my time watching you,” he said flatly, hoping that Dean couldn’t determine that he was lying about having done just that.  Luckily, he didn’t seem to, and continued.

“We need your help,” the hunter finally said.  “We got a coven –”  

“We  _think_  we have a coven,” Sam corrected, reaching for the laptop.  Castiel found the laptop interesting, in that it was a small bundle of energy that somehow stored all of human knowledge, but he wasn’t sure if he should touch it.  He suspected he shouldn’t, for one of three reasons; because he would accidentally kill it somehow, because Sam would try to kill him, or because Dean kept all of his pornography stored somewhere within the device.

“We  _have_  a  _coven_.” Dean insisted, giving Sam his best side-eye.  “Nothing else does freaky stuff like witches.”  

“Get this, Cas.”  Sam stared at the laptop screen and Castiel moved over to look at the screen with a sense of duty.  The light and dark of each pixel bothered his senses and it was hard to focus on the whole picture, he kept getting lost on the details.  “We found these bodies, right.  All the signs of a coven.  I mean, we even found hex bags at the scene, but these people… I mean, they’re the clergy, they’re supposed to be protected against that stuff.”  Sam fell silent and Castiel looked at him, tipping his head.  “Aren’t they?”

“Sam, you’re crazy.  Half the priests are gay, I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules.”  Dean spoke with certainty and Castiel turned his attention to him, puzzled as to why Dean would think one subset of humans deserved protection by Heaven when others did not, and why sexual orientation would factor into it at all.

“The clergy are not protected by Heaven.”  He looked back over Sam’s shoulder and squinted at the pixels, counting them by accident.  “This witchcraft is not the work of witches.” he concluded with certainty.  Witches were messy, but the killings that Sam showed were done with too much single-minded dedication to  _being_  messy.

Dean appeared to have difficulty wrapping his head around the concept.  “Not witches, but witchcraft?  What are we dealing with, then?  Some kind of new age thing?  Kids getting tangled up in the wrong stuff?”  Castiel glanced at him, inhaling the warm air that surrounded him, studying his soul, wounded but so bright.  Slowly, the marks of Hell were fading from the blue-white light and Castiel was pleased to see it.

“Demons walk among you, Dean.  If it were witches, there would be sign of them.  Weather patterns.”  He considered for a moment, then leaned in and added, “Freaky accidents.” in an effort to communicate with the hunter in his own dialect.  Sam had lost interest in the conversation and was staring at his machine again, and the only noise he made was the clicking of buttons. 

“Cas is right, Dean.  There hasn’t been any demon sign.”  Sam looked up to the both of them with a worried furrow in his brow.  Dean broke eye contact first this time, looking down at his brother.  He seemed to see something near Sam that bothered him.  It was gone by the time Castiel looked.  

“I’m sick of this stupid case.  I’m going out.”  Castiel straightened, his wings flicking back and settling behind him once more.  The hunter picked up his coat and shrugged it on, for a few moments the t-shirt he wore stretching tight against the body underneath as he lifted his arms.  Castiel found that, and the strip of skin showing beneath the hem, interesting for some inexplicable reason.  He had seen humans in all states of dress, and never found  _skin_  fascinating before, except in that humans needed it to contain all or most of their blood.  But Dean’s skin was speckled in places that had likely never seen the sun and that was somehow appealing.

“I’ll come with you.”  Dean halted and squinted at Castiel.  “Dean, you prayed for me.  I am coming with you.”  He could feel Sam scrutinizing his back but ignored the feeling of suspicion that radiated from him.  Dean lifted his hands in surrender, pulling his keys from his coat pocket and heading for the door.  Castiel looked down at Sam as he turned, and Sam quickly looked at his laptop.  

Castiel closed the door with a wave of one hand.  Dean was already getting into the Impala and Castiel hurried to the passenger seat.  The engine rumbled to life and Dean smiled.  He could feel the corner of his mouth lifting; no one else made him smile.  He found himself wishing that the hunter would smile at him with the same guileless affection he showed the vehicle.  

“Where are we going?”  Castiel asked, and Dean pulled out onto the road and the engine roared.  The thrumming through his vessel was exciting in a way he couldn’t explain.  Dean glanced at him and he could feel his feathers fluff up in response to the hunter’s green eyes, and the way they reflected the woods passing by the windows.  

“Just needed to get out.  Maybe we’ll get a beer.  Or pie.”  The joy in Dean’s voice when speaking of his favorite pastry was unmistakeable.  Castiel wondered at him with his head tilted and Dean caught his eye.  “Don’t look at me like that.  You love pie.”

Castiel could feel the frown forming and let it happen.  “I don’t know that I love pie.”  Dean scoffed.  “I’ve never had pie.”  Dean scoffed again and turned to look at him fully.  “I don’t eat, Dean.  I can sustain a vessel without nourishment.”  Dean looked back at the road in horrified silence.

“You and Sam, dude.  Salads and… nothing.  Gross.  How do you not  _eat_?  Eating is  _awesome._ ”  Castiel tipped his head but deigned to comment.  Finding the words to explain to Dean that eating was simply a waste of energy was far more effort than it was worth.  Dean had never seemed interested in the habits of angels, and had never been entirely comfortable with the idea of Castiel taking a vessel.  “So what do you think is causing the murders?”

“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.  “I would have to examine one of the bodies.”  Dean grimaced.  “Not now, of course.  We need to get… pie.”  he finished deliberately, looking over at him and waiting for him to confirm his statement.  Dean didn’t want to go to the morgue now, it was clear.  He wanted to go drink beer, eat pie, and Castiel wanted to watch his Righteous Man experience joy.  If pastries were the way to healing his soul, Castiel would feed him as much pie as his body could contain.  

Dean glanced over at him with a bit of a grin and as always, studied every inch of his face.  “You sure you want to come with me?”  Castiel nodded.  He wanted Dean to be happy and Dean seemed to reciprocate.  It was a pleasing arrangement.  He swayed as Dean turned abruptly into a small parking lot on the side of the road.  

“Stay here.” Dean ordered and Castiel watched him get out of the car.  He had initially found Dean ordering him around to be disgusting, a protozoan screaming orders to the ocean, but now he understood it for what it was.  Dean did not have things called “coping methods” for people who made him feel things, and thus he tended to order, and shout, and misbehave.  Now he found the misbehavior to be another reason to be fascinated with the man.

Castiel folded his hands in his lap while he waited, and began to catalogue the unfamiliar phrases and feelings of the day.  He consulted with the residual memories of his vessel – the original owner had died but his memories remained for Castiel to peruse at his leisure.  He consulted his emotional responses for the feeling of ‘crush’.  It was happening when he looked at Dean or stood near Dean or breathed him in and he needed to know what it meant.  

A whirlwind of memories that did not belong to him swept through his mind, muddled and confused and tinged with human emotions.  The experience of emotions was still new, and inexplicably tied to the body he resided in, and whenever an emotion happened he felt it physically. They were tied to hormonal fluctuation.  He could feel those levels, and control them.  But controlling them was difficult and he enjoyed the novel experience of gut reactions, stomach fluttering, and the empty feeling in his chest.  Not because they were pleasant, many of them were not, but because they were  _new_.  

Dean slid back into the car with a bag.  “What’s the matter, Cas?  Somethin’ up?” Castiel looked over at Dean and tried to create words from intent.  Angels expressing love showed appreciation for one another in the bright shimmering colors of their wings, their will.  They touched, intermingled, blended their radiance.  They gleamed, gamboled, they  _Created_  together.  They became one, joined, separated, became stars and rain and chased one another like Moon and Sun and all of it was  _blessed.  Human_ love seemed sweaty and awkward, surrounded by shame and hurt. 

“When you have a ‘crush,’ how do you know if the other feels love as well?”  He could ask Dean, because Dean knew everything there was to know about being a human.  It was interesting to see Dean’s face flush and Castiel tipped his head, watching him with faint amusement.  

“Why, you got a crush?”  Dean said through a grin tinged with mild panic.  “Well, there are signs.”  Dean seemed flustered, starting the car and pulling out into the road.  “Uh.. like.. sometimes a chick’ll lean in. play with her hair.  Show off her…”  Dean ran a hand over the back of his neck.  “Look, why are you asking about crushes?  You gonna run off and get busy with some skank?”  Castiel couldn’t help an irritated exhalation and he looked out the windshield at the passing forest.

“Skanks are not… my type.”  The words weren’t right, of course they weren’t.  Humans didn’t communicate with light or will or the silky touch of feathers, they spoke with small fragments of sound, unenlightened jargon.

“Not your type?  Dude, don’t tell me you’re gay.”  Castiel looked at Dean, who was looking stubbornly at the road.  His pulse was actually audible within the car and the vascular event occurring on his face had not stopped.  The smell of hotel soap and cotton and Dean filled the car.  Curious.  

“I don’t know what that means,” he stated.  He knew, and consulted residual memories as he waited for Dean to respond.  The images he found were shady, mostly furtive images of television screens and cowboys kissing each other.  It was scientifically interesting (why perform the act of reproduction with someone you  _know_  you cannot reproduce with?) but he was more interested in  _why_  the first thing Dean thought of was homosexuality. 

Dean seemed to scramble mentally and Castiel found it satisfying to have Dean as off balance as the hunter typically kept him.  He kept his eyes on the road, wetting his lips with one quick swipe of his tongue as he searched for words.  “It means you like dudes.  In a sexy way.  Like, you wanna take ‘em home and make out and maybe do some hanky panky.”  

“Hanky panky.”  Castiel repeated.  He had found enough images to fully comprehend what Dean meant, but the topic seemed to keep his hunter utterly off kilter and he was determined to stick to it as long as possible.  “You mean penetrative intercourse.”  He stared unblinking at Dean.  “I understand that between men there is use of lubrication, as the anus does not provide adequate -”

Dean nearly drove off the road, overcorrected, swerved a bit.  “Look, Cas.  I don’t need to hear your freakin’ thesis about gay sex, okay?  It’s not my thing, I don’t wanna talk about it with you.”  Castiel lifted his hands in surrender, looking out the window and fought a small, victorious feeling.

Silence stretched between them and Castiel felt his wings flaring out from his vessel, invisibly filling the air between them as his feathers lifted and fanned into a courtship display.  He looked sharply at Dean.  If only Dean had been another angel, he would have seen it, would have known what Castiel was trying to say with the flare of plumage.  “I am not ‘gay,’ Dean.”  Dean seemed to let out a breath.  “Technically I am an angel, and gender is of little import in those we love.”  That same breath lodged in his hunter’s throat and Castiel continued.  “If I were to love you, it would mean more than ‘hanky panky’.”  

“Cas, you’re not making sense.” the hunter scoffed, pulling over to park the car on the shoulder of the state highway.  “Just shut up and eat your pie.”  He shoved the bag at Castiel and got out of the car.  His body language spoke of anger and the angel looked down at the bag in his hands before abandoning it in the seat. He followed Dean out of the car and a short way into the woods.  

“You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not!” snapped Dean and Castiel studied him. 

“You’re upset because you think I’m ‘gay.’” he guessed, uncertainty in his voice.  Dean looked away, breaking eye contact in record time and Castiel suddenly understood.  “You’re upset because you think  _you’re_  ‘gay.’”  Nothing would stop the flare of his wings now.  They took up the entirety of the clearing, spirals of joyous light dancing through them as the pinions quivered in elation.  

“I’m not a damn queer, Cas.”  Dean growled, though there were emotions in his voice.  Defeat, Castiel thought, and disappointment.  Disgust.  “I am not attracted to you.”  He said the lie with such certainty, but his shoulders wilted under the thick canvas of his coat.  “Sometimes I have these.. dreams.  And I can’t… I can’t stop them and I can’t control them, and I don’t  _want_  them.”  Castiel waited with patience and empathy written on his face, and a slight breeze picked up, ruffling Dean’s hair as the hunter’s expression twisted.  “Don’t look at me like that, Cas.  Don’t look at me like you  _care_ , like you  _know_  what I’m talking about.  You’re so goddamn  _alien_  sometimes.”  Dean stalked across the clearing and Castiel watched him go, watched the hunter stop with his back to him.  If he didn’t have the benefit of being a celestial being, he would have missed Dean’s next words.  “I’ve never thought of any guy  _that way_  before.  It’s only been you.”

“Dean,” he ventured, careful.  Dean was not a skittish creature, but the hunter looked like he was poised to run and Castiel sensed he would probably aim for traffic.  “I know about your dreams.  You forget, I’ve visited you in them.”  Dean turned to stare at him, and he hastily corrected himself.  “I haven’t visited the sexual dreams.  But I know about your dreams of Hell, I feel the darkness and the pain you feel.  And when you dream of me, you say my name and it’s like a prayer.  I can’t ignore that.”  He took a careful step forward.  “I know that the dreams with me are… pleasurable.”  

He reached for Dean’s elbow and touched it and when Dean didn’t flee, he slid it to his shoulder.  The hunter closed his eyes, his face twisted in pain.   How  _human_  he looked.  How weak and vulnerable.  He would not see his friend vulnerable in this way again, not for a long time.  For now, he reached up and pressed his hands to Dean’s face, cupping his jaw and stretching up to put his mouth on Dean’s, in a chaste kiss, the only thing in humanity that he could imagine that approximate the spiraling fractals of interwoven light and hue that was an angel’s courtship.  The hunter’s arms were at his sides, but quickly they came up to catch his hands and Dean pulled away.

“Don’t,” he said, voice ragged and Castiel could taste fear in the word.  He allowed the removal of his hands, Dean’s fingers warm and a bit clammy against his.  

“Dean.”   Dean shook his head, looking away, his lips pressed in a thin line.  “Dean, look at me.”

“Dammit, Cas, I  _can’t_ , you son of a bitch, I don’t want to- I can’t start this because-”  He stopped himself quickly and dropped his hands, clenching his fists at his sides.  “Because what if I can’t stop?”  He looked at Castiel and the force of his will, his fury and fear and love hit the angel as their eyes met and the vessel’s lungs reacted as though the wind had been knocked out of him, followed by a gasp making his chest expand.  He felt like he was off-balance, an imagined wind rushing around him as somehow the warm mid-morning light in the clearing they occupied intensified to a glowing radiance.  Dean was closer, closing the distance between them and the fury was gone, replaced with anguished longing.  

“I’m afraid,” he said with a helpless expression, “that I won’t be able to stop,” he said, practically against Castiel’s lips and suddenly the angel was wrapped up in the hunter’s embrace, the chaste kiss a distantly pleasant memory as this new thing surged and ebbed.  Open kisses pressed against his mouth and Dean’s tongue licking into him, the clatter of his teeth against Dean’s as every inch of his body was pressed firmly against the solid weight of the hunter.  Dopamine levels skyrocketed and endorphins went flying erratically through his system and his unseen wings trembled behind him as Dean unknowingly stroked over the roots of the appendages.  Something hot pressed against his groin and he exhaled sharply into Dean’s mouth, his hands coming up to cling to the back of his jacket.  

Dean’s mouth made his brain hazy.  Being a beam of celestial intent was all well and good, but for the moment he was satisfied just being contained in the fleshy prison he had sequestered himself in, because in flesh there was  _pleasure,_  insane, frenzied, _consuming_  pleasure.  Castiel savored the sensation of his body’s arousal, rolling himself around inside of it with abandon, hands blindly clutching at canvas and unable to do much more than make sounds of delight.  

Before he knew what was happening, Dean had pushed him away and Castiel was reeling back, stumbling slightly, his eyes wide and unfocused and the awkward physical reaction that Dean referred to as a ‘boner’ causing his trousers to look malformed.  With a certain satisfaction, he noted that Dean was also in possession of a ‘boner’.  “Dean,” he said, unable to keep an edge of desperation out of his voice, and he reached for the hunter, who shook him off.  

“Cas, I.. can’t.”  The hunter’s body was stiff under his touch, trembling, and Castiel frowned, standing at an awkward distance, throbbing against the cotton of his boxers and feeling sweaty and strange.

“What can I do, Dean.”  It wasn’t a question.  It was an offer, and Dean stood still, eyes closed, then with a quick motion reached to grip the tie he wore, pulling him forward and then down to his knees.  Castiel allowed it, dropping to the ground in front of Dean and looking up at him, luminescent wings spread to the sides in a gesture of submission and adoration.  

“Let me use your mouth.” the hunter whispered, eyes still closed.  Castiel wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, but images flashed through borrowed memories and he inhaled with lips parted.  Dean’s hands left his tie and went to his jeans, fumbling with the zipper and tugging it down, flicking the button open.  The angel watched for as long as he could without touching, and stretched up to press his mouth against the line of hair that led from Dean’s navel and down into his underwear.  He breathed in, tonguing Dean’s skin, the scent of soap and healthy male and the heat of Dean’s cock still trapped against his underwear made him twitch in his trousers.  

Dragging dark fabric down, Cas studied the man’s shaft.  Flushed and erect, curving gently up, with a bead of moisture on the tip.  He looked up at Dean who was breathing shallowly, and let his tongue run over his lower lip before sweeping it slowly against the very tip, gathering the pearlescent liquid on his tongue.  It was bitter and it almost prickled in his throat as he swallowed.

The sound Dean made shot through him from ears to groin, his body jolting and he leaned in again, letting the throbbing flesh sink between his lips.  “ _Fuck_ ,” Dean growled, his trembling hand coming to rest on Castiel’s hair and tightening his grip, tugging him forward to sink further into his mouth, the underside of the flushed pink shaft rubbing against his tongue as Castiel watched the pleasure wash over his face.  From time to time another expression like shame would slink in, but the angel found he could banish those by carressing his tongue against the underside of the hunter’s shaft.  

Dean stood over him, silent as Castiel’s mouth filled with his cock.  His fingers tangled further in his hair and Castiel’s hands came up to frame his hips.  The blunt crown bumped against the back of his throat and he felt a mild struggle from his body; it was a reflex to having airways cut off, but he didn’t need to breathe.  He suppressed the reaction, gripping Dean’s hips and taking him deeper until his nose was pressed against the curls at the base of the shaft.  He kept his lips tight, and couldn’t help an involuntary swallow around the thickness in his throat, felt his eyes water and the glands beneath his tongue produce more saliva.  All involuntary reactions, like the heat in his groin and the slippery feeling at the very tip of his cock.  Things he could control if he wanted, but the new experiences were worth discomfort.

Dean’s other hand curled around the nape of his neck, slack-jawed astonishment on his face.  Castiel found that he very much liked the expression and slowly pulled back against Dean’s grip.  The hunter’s fingers loosened, allowing the angel the freedom to move, letting spit-slick flesh slide through his lips.  He blinked away the wetness on his eyelashes.  Nothing would stop him from observing every flicker of pleasure on his hunter’s face.  Both hands slid up over the edge of Dean’s underwear so they could settle on skin and he pressed forward again, feeling the soft skin move against his lips over the firm flesh, and Dean’s hips moved forward to meet him, a groan so deep it was barely audible coming from the man.  

Castiel echoed the groan, eyes wide from the pleasure that he got from providing pleasure, his fingers curling into flesh as he kept his mouth tight around the throbbing shaft until it slipped from his mouth.  “Dean,” he whispered, pleading.  “Look at me.”  His voice sounded rougher to his own ears, pleading, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of the cock before him, laving the sensitive underside with his tongue.  

“Can’t.” Dean grunted, his breathy response making Castiel shudder in pleasure.   “How the fuck did you get so goddamned – oh  _God_ , Cas.”  His lashes fluttered when the angel pulled his shaft into his mouth again, sucking it deep and Dean’s mouth opened in a trembling gasp.  Rough hands gripped his hair, pulling the dark strands between his fingers as Castiel let him slip from his mouth again.

“I… want you to see  _me_.”  Castiel meant his real self, with all of the prismatic glory of his being, the flare of his wings and the way he would wrap himself around Dean, to protect him, treasure him,  _worship_ him and proclaim to all of Heaven, Hell, and Earth that this man was  _his_.

Dean made a garbled sound as Castiel took his length into his mouth in one swift motion and began to move, letting it fill him with the taste of Dean.  Watching the hunter, he studied the flickering of his lashes, the way his mouth fell open in bliss, the louder gasps and grunts he gave when Castiel buried his face against his groin, letting the man’s cock slide into his throat. 

The hunter’s fingers in his hair kept him in place, the control having shifted solidly into Dean’s hands as he took his pleasure in the angel’s mouth with hurried, frenetic thrusts.  Castiel released one of Dean’s hips, pressing his hand to his groin and kneading himself to ease some of the building pressure he was feeling.  The sudden spike of immense pleasure took him by surprise and he cried out out, muffled by the cock in his mouth as a powerful sensation blasted through his body.  He grasped himself through the fabric of his trousers and could feel the pleasurable pulses race through the taut flesh and a sudden sensation of wet heat collecting in his boxers and slipping down the length of him.  

Dean’s eyes flew open at the sound Castiel made, his green finding the angel’s wide-blown blue on him, matted lashes, flushed lips stretched around the base of him.    Holding the hunter’s gaze and ignoring the mess he’d made of his clothes, he deliberately leaned in, tongue moving quickly, mimicking the punishing pace Dean had kept him at as the thick cock twitched against his lips.  The man standing over him rested his hands on his head, gripping his hair with trembling fingers.

He was watching now and Castiel put everything he had into bringing him to and over the edge, the pleasure that showed on Dean’s face growing in intensity and his eyes fluttered shut, head tipped back so all Castiel could see was the long line of his throat.  He was finding that every part of Dean held mysteries that he wanted to solve with his tongue.  A deep groan ripped out of him and Cas felt the shaft pulse before his mouth was full of the bitter taste of Dean’s release, pooling hot on his tongue.  

He was unsure what to do about the mouthful of salt-bitter semen, and his nose wrinkled involuntarily.  Pulling away from Dean, he swallowed twice, and licked his lips, looking up at the hunter.  Dean sank to the ground in front of him, covered in a light sheen of sweat.  He was silent, dazed, shaken, and without a word, he leaned forward to butt his head against Castiel’s shoulder.  Castiel exhaled, the empty feeling in his chest seeming to ease, and reached up to stroke his fingers through his hair, and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.  His wings swept to encircle the hunter, protecting him in the covetous shelter of his grace.  

“Cas…” Dean sounded broken, unsure.  

“Dean,” he said, and not for the first time, words failed him.  How could he tell Dean that for as long as he lived, Castiel would be watching over him?


End file.
